‘A local pasta dish,’ Leandro replied with a shrug. ‘Made with tomatoes and basil—simple enough.’
Zoe nodded. She wasn’t about to kick up a fuss over something so small, yet it still irritated her that Leandro had ordered for her without even asking. It spoke volumes about how he viewed his station in life…and hers.
And yet, she asked herself, determined to be honest, why should she care? She’d had years of experience in menial work; her impressive listing of chambermaid and waitressing jobs was undoubtedly what had secured her this position in the first place. Yet for some reason, in the enforced intimacy of their situation, it rankled.
‘May I have a drink?’ she asked a little pettishly, and Leandro’s eyes narrowed, his lips thinning in obvious disapproval.
‘The waiter will bring water—were you thinking of something else?’
Zoe almost said she’d like a glass of wine after the day she’d had, but she decided she’d pressed enough. She shrugged her acceptance instead and switched subjects. ‘Why are you selling the villa? Is it a business investment?’
Leandro’s expression hardened briefly and he shrugged in reply. ‘Something like that.’
Zoe took a thoughtful sip from the water glass the waiter had placed on the table. ‘Why is it in such a state?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? No one has lived in it for years.’
‘Yes, but…’ Zoe set down her glass. ‘Why not? It’s beautiful, and it’s the type of property that would go in a heartbeat—or so I would have thought.’
‘You know very much about real estate in the region?’ Leandro asked with an arched eyebrow.
Zoe shrugged. ‘I read gossip magazines. Celebrities are always buying up places like this for millions.’
‘This villa hasn’t been for sale.’
There was an ominously final note in Leandro’s voice that made Zoe wonder what he wasn’t saying. Still, she decided to drop the subject.
‘You mentioned getting supplies in—would I find them here?’
‘Probably not. Lornetto is no more than a fishing village. There is a market town across the lake—you can take the boat.’
‘The boat?’ The idea of jetting across the lake on her own gave Zoe an unspeakable thrill.
Leandro must have sensed it, for he narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you ever driven a powerboat?’ he asked. ‘It is a small one, but still…’
Zoe opened her eyes wide. ‘I’m sure I can manage.’
A reluctant smile quirked the corner of his mouth before disappearing completely, replaced by the more familiar disapproval. ‘It is not so simple. I’ll drive you tomorrow. After that…’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’
The waiter came to the table bearing two steaming bowls of pasta, fragrant with fresh basil and oregano. Zoe’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and she was starving.
Neither of them spoke as they dug into the pasta, and after a few moments Zoe became aware that Leandro was watching her with a mixture of amusement and disapproval.
‘Do you always attack your meals with so much gusto?’
‘When I haven’t had anything to eat all day,’ she replied, swallowing a mouthful of pasta, ‘yes.’
Leandro did not look remotely abashed. Zoe wondered what kind of women he was used to. No doubt stick-thin models from Milan, who toyed with a lettuce leaf and called it a meal. Her mouth twisted in cynicism. He was wealthy, good-looking, powerful. Men like that liked ornaments on their arm, nothing more. Ornaments they quickly discarded…or shattered.
Pushing those memories away, Zoe smiled brightly at Leandro as their pasta bowls were cleared. ‘What kind of research do you do?’
‘You wouldn’t understand it,’ Leandro replied, and her interest—and annoyance—were piqued.
‘Try me.’
He shrugged. ‘Risk analysis. I’m an actuary—I work in financial forecasting. Cashflow studies, you’d call it.’ At Zoe’s blank look he continued, amusement lurking in his eyes, ‘Statistical modelling, stochastic stimulations, pricing role?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘Nope, nope and nope.’
The amusement in his eyes made its way to his mouth, and Zoe’s heart rate jumped and then kicked up a notch at the sight of his full-fledged grin. Did he know of its dazzling effect? she wondered, feeling almost dizzy. Was he aware of how it lightened his features, brightened his eyes, and made him all too approachable?
‘I told you you wouldn’t understand it,’ he said with a shrug, and at this dismissal Zoe’s heart rate settled right down again.
‘Well, it’s obviously made you rich,’ she said bluntly.
Leandro’s mouth tightened, his eyes flashing with something close to anger. ‘Yes, it has. Although it is of no concern to you. I started my own company, and it has done well.’
Clearly he’d had enough of the subject—and of her—for he rose from the table, signalling for the bill with one autocratically raised hand. Zoe rose as well, and in a matter of seconds Leandro had dealt with the bill and was striding out of the restaurant, clearly expecting her to follow. He didn’t look back, and with a little stirring of resentment, she made her way down the dusky street to join him, matching his brisk pace.
By the time they’d left the lights of Lornetto behind, the road was dark and filled with shadows. There were no street lights or passing cars, only the silvery glint of moonlight on the lake. Zoe stumbled on the uneven pavement and Leandro reached out to steady her, grabbing her elbow in a firm grip before she righted herself again.
‘And you didn’t even have a glass of wine,’ he said, his voice a murmur in the dark. ‘Although I think you wanted one.’
There went her heart rate again—skittering all over the place, stupid thing. Zoe could see his eyes and teeth gleaming in the darkness, but nothing more. ‘How did you know?’ she asked, a bit unevenly.
Leandro dropped his hand from her elbow, his face partially averted. When he spoke, his voice was coolly dismissive. ‘A girl like you…what else would I expect?’
It took Zoe a moment to process his implication. She came to a stop in the middle of the road. ‘What do you mean, a girl like me?’ she asked, feeling a sudden icy pooling in her stomach. It was so close to what Steve had said, what he had thought.
Leandro turned around, exasperated. ‘What do you think I mean?’
It was clearly a rhetorical question; there was no doubt, Zoe thought bitterly, in either of their minds what he meant. Resentment bubbled within her.
‘The implication is hardly complimentary,’ she said, her voice sharp.
Leandro just shrugged. ‘It is what it is. Now, I don’t fancy standing in the middle of the road in the dark. Let’s go.’ Without waiting for a response, he turned and started back down the shadowy road.
Fuming, Zoe followed.
A girl like her. If she felt like being charitable—or he did—she might think that simply meant someone who was fun, friendly, full of life. A few months ago she would have made that assumption—before she’d realised exactly what kind of assumptions men like Steve and apparently Leandro were making about her. A girl like you. Loose, easy, cheap. Basically, a slut.
Her mouth thinned and her eyes narrowed as she followed Leandro up the villa’s private lane. The palazzo was no more than a huge shadow in the darkness.
She shouldn’t be offended by Leandro’s words, Zoe told herself. She shouldn’t care what a man like him thought. She understood that going from place to place, job to job, made men think she was as loose as her lifestyle. And projecting a certain image—fun-loving, free—kept her safe. Protected her heart. She revelled in her reputation, in her freedom.
She could pick up or drop down at a moment, discarding homes and relationships with insouciant ease. That was who she was. That was who she had to be, to protect herself from getting hurt.
So why, for a moment, did she not like a man like Leandro assuming it?
A man like Leandro…What did that mean? She didn’t know him at all, Zoe r
ealised. He was rich, he was well connected, he was a buttoned-up accountant. No, an actuary. Whatever that was. But beyond the basics she had no idea what kind of man he was.
‘The kind of man who thinks he knows all about a girl like me,’ she muttered, and Leandro, now at the front door, turned round.
‘Did you say something?’
‘No.’ Her voice came out in a petulant retort, but Leandro merely arched an eyebrow.
Zoe jabbed him in the chest with one forefinger; even with just the tip of her finger she could feel the hard definition of sculpted muscle underneath his shirt. ‘You don’t know me, signor. So don’t go telling me what kind of girl I am.’ She sounded ridiculous, Zoe realised distantly. She also realised her finger was still jabbed in his chest. And yet she didn’t move it. If she wasn’t so tired, if her brain didn’t feel so fuzzy and light and disconnected, she wouldn’t have mentioned anything. She certainly wouldn’t have touched him.
Instead, her brain registered in that same disconnected way that he’d wrapped his own hand—warm, strong, dry—around her finger and raised it to his lips. His eyes were dark, and Zoe detected a spark of anger in their depths. She wondered who he was angry with. Himself or her.
She watched, fascinated, as her finger barely brushed the softness of his parted mouth. His eyes darkened even more, to almost black, and his mouth thinned into a contemptuous, knowing smile as he dropped her hand and it fell limply to her side.
‘I wouldn’t presume to tell you anything,’ Leandro replied curtly. ‘I don’t need to. You say it plainly enough.’
With that he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the house, and Zoe realised it was the third time that day he’d walked away and left her standing alone.
He was playing with fire. Touching her. Needing to touch her. And enjoying it.
Leandro flung himself into his desk chair and closed his eyes, but he couldn’t banish the image of Zoe Clark at dinner, wearing that silky top, her hair dark and soft around her face. He pictured the way her eyes had danced with amusement, the way those silly little straps had slipped off her tanned shoulders. The way he’d wanted to push them off.
And she would have let him.
He could still feel the barest brush of her finger against his lips—what had he been thinking, teasing her like that? Teasing himself?
He certainly wasn’t going to act upon the latent desire that hummed inside him—between them. If he were a different man he might have. He might have said to hell with good intentions and higher principles, and taken what was so blatantly on offer. He’d enjoy it, for a time, and then he’d walk away—tabloids, colleagues, family be damned…All for the sake of desire.
But he wasn’t a different man.
He wasn’t his father, and he wouldn’t cheapen and enslave himself to desire. Not for a woman like Zoe Clark—a woman like all the others who took and took and didn’t care who she stepped on to get what she wanted.
Who she hurt.
It’s obviously made you rich.
His mouth thinned in distaste at the memory of her words. Another woman on the prowl. Well, she wouldn’t get anything from him. He wouldn’t give her the chance.
Stifling a curse, he pulled his papers towards him, one hand fumbling for the spectacles he’d discarded on his desk. He switched on the desk lamp, and with a grim, determined focus bent his head to his work.
CHAPTER THREE
ZOE awoke to bright lemony sunshine pouring through the windows, a fresh breeze from the mountains ruffling the rather tattered curtains.
She lay still for a moment, enjoying the feel of the sun and the breeze, before memories of last night filtered through her consciousness and started to spoil her mood.
A girl like you.
You say it plainly enough.
Leandro Filametti had made it clear how little he thought of her. She shouldn’t be surprised, Zoe knew. She’d faced far worse in her years as a chambermaid or short-order cook, in the endless parade of dead-end jobs she’d determinedly revelled in. Zoe Clark—the girl without a plan.
Tomorrow will take care of itself, sweetie. Hasn’t it always?
And with the dead-end jobs had come the leering looks, the men who assumed a girl like her was always on offer.
And when she’d finally chosen to be involved with someone, to give her body and yet keep her heart safe, she’d still had her ego stamped on. She pictured Steve’s sneering face before resolutely pushing the image away.
She wouldn’t let Steve hurt her any more—she’d let him hurt her enough already—and she wouldn’t let Leandro hurt her either.
Except last night Leandro’s carelessly delivered condemnation had hurt. It had pierced her armour of indifference, and she didn’t even understand why.
Why was Leandro Filametti different? Why did he make her feel different?
‘He doesn’t,’ Zoe said aloud, her voice sounding strange, echoing in the empty room. She shrugged off her covers and jumped out of bed, determined to enjoy the beautiful day, so fresh and bright, and not to think about Leandro.
Not to care.
She was good at that; she always had been. And now would be no different.
The villa was silent as Zoe made her way downstairs, stepping through pools of sunshine. She skidded to a halt when she saw Leandro sitting at the huge kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee.
‘Sleeping Beauty finally awakes,’ he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and acerbity.
‘What—?’ Zoe glanced inadvertently at the clock, and gasped when she saw what time it was. ‘Eleven a.m.!’
‘It must be the jet lag,’ Leandro said laconically. ‘In future I hope you intend to have a little less beauty sleep.’ He rose from the table, taking his mug to the sink. ‘If you’re dressed, we might as well head to town. I can’t spend all day fetching and carrying, and it’s already near lunchtime.’
‘Fine.’ Zoe pushed her hair away from her face, and her stomach rumbled audibly.
A smile flickered across Leandro’s features, then disappeared. ‘And we’ll get some breakfast as well.’
Zoe followed Leandro outside, through the gardens and down to the jetty, to where a weathered speedboat was moored. It was a small craft, clearly meant for functional use, yet despite its age Zoe could tell it was well made and expensive.
Like Leandro, she thought with a trace of humour. Nothing showy or ostentatious, nothing obvious, yet he still emanated the sort of arrogant assurance that could only come from a lifetime of money and power.
She repeated that mantra to herself as she climbed into the boat, sinking into one of the comfortable leather seats as Leandro slid into the driver’s seat and the boat thrummed to life.
Zoe knew she should stay angry with Leandro, remind herself of all the assumptions he’d made, but with the sun sparkling on the water as if the lake were strewn with diamonds, and the day stretched out in front of them filled with enticing possibility and adventure, she found her indignation trickling away…at least for the moment. She slipped on her sunglasses as they pulled away from the jetty. The breeze was fresh, and just a little bit sharp.
‘This is fabulous!’ she shouted to Leandro over the sound of the motor. He glanced across at her, a smile lurking in his eyes, and suddenly Zoe wanted to see it on his mouth, see his face transformed, alive. ‘Can you go any faster?’
For a moment his mouth tightened, as if he disapproved of the question, its implications and innuendoes. Then with a shrug he pushed the throttle forward and the speedboat jumped ahead, singing through the sea. A gurgle of laughter escaped from Zoe’s throat, and she turned to see Leandro grin.
His teeth flashed white in his tanned face, his eyes, the same colour of the lake, sparkling with humour, and Zoe felt herself react, her heart skipping a beat, her insides tightening.
This was dangerous, she acknowledged, even as she grinned back. She knew what getting involved with a man like Leandro meant. What it felt like. Yet for that moment, r
ecklessly, she wanted to be just a little bit dangerous. She’d keep her wayward heart under lock and key.
She held his gaze, silently challenging him, her grin changing into a seductive smile. He looked away first, his smile disappearing, and Zoe felt a flicker of disappointment. She sat back, enjoying the simple beauty of the alpine forests that stretched straight to the shore, dotted with the terracotta tile and crumbled stone of the region’s many hamlets and villages.
After a quarter of an hour Leandro steered the boat towards the shoreline of one of the lake’s larger towns. A promenade fronted the water, lined with villas, shops and street cafés. Leandro moored the boat at the public dock, and leaped gracefully out of the boat before extending a hand to Zoe.
She took it, not wanting to make a fool of herself by scrambling inelegantly out of the speedboat. And, she admitted silently, she liked the feel of his hand encasing hers—although he dropped it almost immediately.
‘You should be able to get what you need in the shops here in Menaggio,’ Leandro said as they walked towards the centre of town. ‘Did you bring a list?’
She hadn’t even thought of a list, but Zoe smiled brightly. ‘Of course.’
Leandro’s lips twitched even as his eyes narrowed. ‘Why do I have trouble believing that?’
Zoe met his gaze directly. She was good at brazening it out; she’d had loads of practice evading landlords, bosses, men with groping hands and leering looks. Widen the eyes, smile confidently, keep the voice firm. It was easy. Too easy. ‘I don’t know. Why?’
Leandro shook his head. ‘Because you don’t seem like the kind of girl who even thinks about lists.’
Another judgement. ‘You seem to have fitted me neatly into a box,’ Zoe said, her voice a little shorter than she’d intended. ‘And it’s woman, please. Not girl. I’m twenty-eight.’
‘Are you?’ Leandro murmured, his tone and smile both sardonic. ‘And don’t you think you fit into that box?’
Zoe glanced at him sharply. ‘No one belongs in a box. Not willingly, anyway.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Leandro agreed in a drawl. ‘But even so the box can still fit.’
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